


For the Love of Sugar and Flour

by the_pen_is_mightier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves Crowley, Crowley POV, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, a lot of food stuff, pointless tooth-rotting fluff, soft Crowley, they just love each other and eat brownies okay, this is very silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 07:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Aziraphale feeds Crowley brownies. Crowley is so deeply, desperately in love. That is all.





	For the Love of Sugar and Flour

Crowley’s heart had leapt when Aziraphale’s name appeared on his phone. It always did, the cheeky bastard, and then it usually set up a frantic pounding drumbeat in his throat just for fun. But Crowley thought he’d done an admirable job sounding cool and aloof when picking up. He’d made his voice deep and suave, oozing the charisma of a tempter. “This is Anthony J. Crowley. Who’s calling?” 

“It’s me,” Aziraphale had said, breathy with excitement. “Would you come over to the bookshop, please?” 

His heart had done a joyful somersault. “I’d - ah - sure, all right.” 

“Be here in a few minutes?” 

“Absolutely,” he’d said, too quickly, excitement pitching his voice wildly out of its reserve. “As soon as I can, angel.” 

And then Aziraphale had hung up. So now, true to his word, only minutes later, Crowley was pushing open the bookshop’s door. The sign had turned to CLOSED despite it still being midafternoon, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. Crowley heard the bell, and then Aziraphale’s face appeared, annoyed until he registered who the intruder was. 

“Crowley,” he beamed, hurrying up to him. “Would you join me in the kitchen?”

And his hand closed around Crowley’s, an easy, carefree gesture, and Crowley was rendered quite speechless as Aziraphale dragged him back through the cluttered shelves. 

A pleasing aroma, sugar and chocolate, wafted from the kitchen as they entered it. Crowley relished the smell; he didn’t eat often, but he enjoyed tasting sweetness on the air. He looked around for whatever treat Aziraphale had put out, but it wasn’t anywhere in plain sight.

“Take off your sunglasses, dear,” Aziraphale said. “Won’t you?”

Crowley pulled them off, resting them on the counter. “What fo-”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him from behind. His grip was warm; his angel was always warm, and his chest was soft as it pressed into Crowley’s spine. Crowley melted into the embrace, snaking his arms around to hug Aziraphale back. It was still a delightful shock, this new intimacy, these casual touches. It was wondrous, after so long spent convinced his love was unrequited, for Crowley to feel how eager the angel was for them. 

And then Aziraphale pulled his hands up and a blindfold slipped over Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Should we agree on a safe word, angel?”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale was too excited to be abashed by Crowley’s teasing. He led Crowley gently to a chair and Crowley sat; he was beginning to guess what this was about, but he would let Aziraphale explain. “I need your tongue to be discerning.”

“What am I tasting?” 

“Brownies,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley could _hear_ the smile in his voice, the enthusiasm, the zeal that made Crowley fall impossibly even more in love each time he heard it. “I want a second opinion on them. And I want to know which type you think is best.” 

Crowley rested his chin in his hands. It was probably in his best interest as a cool and slick demon to conceal the silly grin spreading over his face, but he found he couldn’t help himself. “Go on, then.” 

“The first one’s from a new shop around the corner. It’s owned by a lovely young couple who bake everything themselves.” Crowley heard rustling, the sound of foil being unwrapped. “I got them talking enough about their business when they came in yesterday that I distracted them from actually buying any books.”

“Oh, well done you.”

“Open up.” 

Crowley opened his mouth, and a piece of brownie was placed, trimly, delicately, on his tongue. He bit into it. The texture was a bit rough - Crowley preferred cake, all said and done - but the flavor, unadulterated chocolate, dark and sweet and sugary, more than made up for it. His mouth watered. He relished the bite, humming as he swallowed.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale sounded on the edge of his seat. 

Crowley paused and held up his hands, inhaling as though about to deliver some stunning thesis. “I think… _raspberries_.” 

Aziraphale gasped softly. “Raspberries! Yes, that would be a perfect adornment!”

“Write it down. I know, I know, I’m a genius.” 

And, for Someone’s sake, he could actually hear Aziraphale make a hurried note of his suggestion. No doubt he’d take it to the couple tomorrow, beaming and blushing and telling them how delicious their baked goods were, and how his dear, dear friend - no, his _partner_, Aziraphale had taken to calling Crowley that these days and it still made Crowley’s ribs flutter to remember it - had suggested they’d do well with raspberries. And the big, silly grin was back on his face. 

“The second one is from the most expensive bakery I could find,” said Aziraphale. “I just wanted to compare them.”

Crowley opened his mouth. This bite was considerably softer, flakier, and he could taste more butter and creaminess, a polished, heightened baking process. It melted a little on his tongue, and was gone more quickly than the first one.

“Hmmm,” he said. “I can taste how much they want me to eat more.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Don’t you think?” 

“Bet this one would go well under some ice cream.”

“I’d make a note of that too, only it seems the bakery’s wiles were successful on me - I’ve already eaten the rest.”

Crowley laughed. Oh, he knew his angel was quite susceptible to wiles of all sorts. “Right then. My verdict. I have to admit the expensive one is better made, but it’s also a bit _forgettable_. Doesn’t exactly grab you and keep you like the homemade ones do. And with the raspberries, I really think those ones could go from good to -”

Another bite was at his lips. This time as he took it, he felt fingers, sunbeam-light, brush softly over his jaw.

And this one was exquisite. Crowley had never really loved any human food, had never fallen over himself for it the way Aziraphale did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the finest the world had to offer. Chocolate ran together in his mouth with cream and caramel and a hint of fruity flavor he couldn’t put his finger on. His eyes widened beneath the blindfold as he chewed. “Mph. Angel, whose is _this?_ It’s magnificent.” 

The fingers returned. Aziraphale’s thumb moved gently over the corner of Crowley’s mouth, then slid up, caressing his cheek, chaste and tender. 

“It’s mine,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley stilled. He heard a thousand things in the angel’s voice, but he suddenly couldn’t bear only hearing him - he pulled the blindfold off, and his eyes, free of sunglasses, gazed openly. Aziraphale’s mouth was curved in a shy smile. He looked - oh, the glorious bastard - he looked just the slightest bit guilty, and Crowley knew he was aware the confession he’d made with those two words. Aziraphale was not at all interested in Crowley’s opinion on the bakery down the street. He’d just wanted an excuse to feed the demon something he’d made. 

And Crowley’s heart was thundering, beating out the rhythm of a parade float band, and warmth was flooding through him, down to his core and out to every part, because the angel he’d loved for _six thousand years_ was sitting so close to him, touching him, bashful and uncertain, sharing with him what he loved most. Giving, and so _delighted_ in giving - the very thing he’d been afraid of about himself the first day they’d met. The thing he’d tried to deny himself, now glowing out from him. Loving, and so very happy to love. Crowley felt a lump rising in his throat and was unsurprised to find himself on the verge of tears.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand from his face and pressed a shaky kiss to the angel’s fingers. 

“Aziraphale,” he choked out, “that brownie was so good I need to get the crumbs off your hand.” 

Aziraphale laughed, a soft, affectionate laugh. 

“Won’t you let me?”

“Be my guest.”

He kissed the tips of Aziraphale’s fingers again, then kissed the spaces where each finger joined the palm. He kissed the angel’s palm - it tasted like flour and chocolate dust. He kissed his wrist. Aziraphale shivered, and Crowley lifted his head to meet his eyes again, a question in his smile. 

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, “you’re so good to me.” 

It was rather foolish, and decidedly undignified, and certainly not befitting a demon hellbent on eternal chaos to fling himself into an angel’s embrace. It was mortifyingly beneath him to nuzzle the angel’s neck while the angel stroked his hair, to wrap his arms tight around the angel’s soft waist, to smell his shirt, the aroma of baking still caught within it, wafting through him along with overpowering adoration. It was a downright _crime_ to the name of demonkind to curl up on the angel’s lap and lean against him as he was fed the rest of the brownie, bite by bite, his tongue singing and his traitorous heart doing harmony. Oh, he was a poor excuse for a villain.

But somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.


End file.
